I am finding it very hard to be me these days. I stumbled a month ago. Then the chance to recover never came and I kept stumbling. How do you not take your own life personally?
The story starts with me wanting people to like what I’ve created. And when they didn’t, I tried not taking it personally. But I raged and ranted, rejected my rejection, and wanted horribly to reach the outcome I’d expected where I was wonderful. My attempt to jam a round peg in a square hole backfired on me. I was mortified. I felt compelled to apologize for wanting to rush everything. For trying to make people do stuff they didn’t want to do. For not paying attention and not being ready.
And I wished that was all that had happened to me. I might have recovered from the hormonally crazed temper tantrum I had. But you never expect the Spanish Inquisition. When it ends, I’ll tell the real story because it’s my ongoing nightmare. Nobody is hurt in this story except my self-esteem which apparently was sacrificed to the angry gods to allow me to live.
Do I have an alternate personality? Maybe Nancy? Was it she who wrote that check I don’t remember writing for the amount that over drafted my account. And she who forgot to take care of that very mundane but important detail that, when neglected, threw my life into a self doubting tornado of chaos and hell reminding me of places I’d left and no longer wanted remember.
I’m so tired of the burden of shame I’ve been feeling and the tears I either endured or stuffed this past week . I am hoping this isn’t some perverse form of unconscious self-sabotage to revisit a shameful place I left a long time ago in a marriage far far away. A place where I wasn’t safe from myself.
I’m wondering where the reset point is? When am I allowed to forgive myself and accept the fact that I may mess up again. When do I get to wear my force field coat allowing me to regain my confidence from this time forward? Soon I hope for my and my loved ones’ sake. I feel I’m in danger of losing the self-confidence ground I worked really hard to gain.
Although surely a visit to an oncology wing or a homeless shelter would give me some perspective, maybe telling my story will lessen its evil spell. Or maybe if I stop trying to bear it by myself and ask for support, I’ll feel lighter. Or maybe I need to ride it out because perspective is a square peg I can not jam in the round hole of my now.
I’m the one person I may need to truly apologize to. To say “I’m sorry Shalagh for dropping the ball. For having everyone else’s back but mine.” Next week I intend to talk back to the loser-speak. I’ll make better plans to keep me safe, organized, and clear of unrealistic expectations which might further damage my tender state of existence. “The best way out is always through”, Robert Frost said. Soon, I’ll tell you my bad story from the beginning.